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But Love Is A Voice On The Wind

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Sherlock surfaces to consciousness with the realisation that he isn't that badly hurt, a bit battered perhaps, but nothing to justify the morphine they've given him. Not when it will be so hard to get off of it again.

He hears the buzzing of his phone and the sigh of the nurse. Sherlock hopes it's not Lestrade; he'd hate to miss a spectacularly interesting case just because he's in the hospital. As soon as the nurse starts to read the text Sherlock knows who it's from. He also knows that John's own condition isn't serious, but that Moriarty isn't dead either.

"Reassuring him that you're fine is worth waking him up. MH." There's a certain amusement value to be had in hearing the nurse read Mycroft's texts, though the amusement value is lost when she starts to chide Sherlock for sitting up too fast. Sherlock is perfectly aware of the limits of his own body.

John is slumped in a chair on the left side of Sherlock. His right cheek is scratched slightly, and his elbow is probably bruised. John's leg - the right one - is also in a cast. Sherlock spends three seconds wondering how long he's been out before figuring out the answer.

"John," he says. The nurse shoots Sherlock a glare. She wasn't amenable to Mycroft insisting John be here, then.

John shakes himself alert and looks at Sherlock.

"They have doctors here," Sherlock says because he can't avoid the look in John's eyes. "Probably even decent ones. If they told you I'm fine, I probably am."

"Are you?" John asks.

Sherlock smiles. "Yes."


Sherlock hears the buzz of his phone again and glares at the nurse. "Don't read that," he says. He can manage just fine without his brother telling him how to act like a normal human being. Being a normal human being is far from worth the bother.

"What if it's important?"

"It's not ever going to be important when it's a text. I've told you that. Now if you'll excuse me, the nurse has just upped my dosage of morphine. Which means I'll be out for a while. You should have something to eat."

The next time Sherlock wakes, John is standing over him before Sherlock can blink twice. "Bored?" he asks.

"So much so," Sherlock says.

"Impress me," John replies. "Tell me which hospital we're in and what the nurse had for breakfast."

Sherlock can't stop himself from saying, "You should have eaten breakfast yourself," but he follows it up with an explanation of everything John had asked for. "Impressed?"

"Very." John looks it too, which is somewhat gratifying. Sherlock hates being condescended to. "That's your phone again. You want me to check it?"

"Not necessary."

"Is Mycroft likely to be annoyed with you?"

Sherlock frowns. "He's too busy convincing Mummy that his actions weren't what put my life in danger, but that he'll still look out better for me next time. She won't believe him, so I'd give him latitude if he sends you any particularly odd texts."

"Right. I'll be sure to do that." John is clearly trying to imagine what strange texts Mycroft might send. Sherlock is sure that he's not remotely close.

Mycroft stops bothering Sherlock as soon as his nurse reports that Sherlock isn't even listening to the messages. Sherlock entertains the remote possibility that hearing what Mycroft has to say might help with the terrible boredom of hospitals, but he knows Mycroft better than that.

As soon as he's well enough to be released and is headed back to Baker Street with John, Mycroft starts up with the texts again. "Put your hand on his thigh. MH," the first one reads.

Sherlock snorts at it.

His phone chirps again. Sherlock knows what it says but he checks it anyway, because John is looking worried at him. "You do need my help seducing him, actually. MH."

Sherlock drops the phone into his pocket. "Anything important?" John asks.

"No. Not really." Sherlock sets his right hand on John's left knee.

John glances at Sherlock, his eyes widening a fraction.

Sherlock sighs and starts to remove his hand. He should know that no plan of Mycroft's, no matter how modified it is, would ever work.

Without saying a word, John drops his hand on top of Sherlock's, pinning it to his knee.

Sherlock glances at their hands, then up to John's face. John nods and smiles tentatively at him.

They've just arrived back at the flat, and Sherlock is almost afraid of what John would have done to the place in his absence, until he realises that there's no way John has left the hospital except when forced. With Mycroft watching over him, no one would force John to leave, ever.

Sherlock's phone buzzes, and Sherlock checks it subtly enough that he's sure John doesn't notice. "Offer him a cup of tea. MH." Of course Sherlock would think of that himself, except that it's not very him. In fact, it's not him enough that even considering the possibility of going through with it is suspicious. Sherlock wonders if John would find it odd, or just be pleasantly surprised. John does seem to insist on thinking Sherlock is capable of things, of emotions, of caring, where he really should know better.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" Sherlock asks.

John smiles, friendly and not remotely concerned. "That would be lovely. Thank you Sherlock."

Mycroft reminds Sherlock that John takes his tea with one teaspoon of milk and the barest pinch of sugar. Obviously Sherlock knew that already; he does pay attention.

Sherlock obviously notices how John's shirt the next day does a really good job of bringing out John's eyes. He could hardly avoid noticing it. Similarly, it's not like John doesn't know how attractive he is. So when the next text is, "Tell John how you can't help but be intensely attracted to him in that shirt. MH," Sherlock is more than a little irritated.

"Mind your own business," he sends back, confident of the fact that his rapid reply will speak for his annoyance. "SH."

"He's not as observant as you are. MH."

"Yes, but he's observant enough. SH."

"And how long did it take you to observe that he likes you? MH."

"Just tell him you like the shirt and that you like how it looks on him. MH."

"You can even rephrase it if you insist. MH."

Sherlock eventually decides it's easier to tell John what the man surely already knows than it is to continue to fight with Mycroft. "John?"

John looks up rather warily. Sherlock knew nothing good could come of this.

"That shirt you're wearing now looks rather good on you."

John blushes ever-so-slightly. "Thank you." Sherlock would say that he sounds surprised if he was willing to give in to Mycroft. Since he wasn't, clearly John had simply temporarily misplaced his understanding of how attractive he was.

Sherlock picks up milk and bread without being asked by either Mycroft or John to do so. He's rather proud of himself, until he realises that his phone was accidentally set to silent. He's missed texts from both of them suggesting he do just that. He's also apparently failed to notice that John prefers semi skimmed milk.

After that, there's a break in the texts from Mycroft for a while. Sherlock is worried, until he realises that John has been talking about the uncertain results of the parliamentary election for the past couple of days. Even if Mycroft is above such petty things as political parties, he still has to be there to smooth the transition or to make the transition happen.

"Well, that's sorted then," John says, coming in from doing the shopping. All he bought was the milk, and to be fair Sherlock did make an effort in that direction.

"What's sorted?"

"We have a government again."

"I see."

"You don't have any desire at all to know who the current prime minister is, do you?"

"Not particularly, no."

John is shaking his head when Sherlock's phone goes off. "Let him catch you looking at him. MH."

Sherlock drops the phone back in his pocket until later, when he replies, "I've been reliably informed that it's generally a bit creepy and weird when I do that. SH."

"If John were put off by you being a bit weird he'd be gone already. MH."

Sherlock has every intention of ignoring Mycroft, only then John insists that Sherlock see the Harry Potter movies, or at the least the first one. It's beyond dull, which makes watching John's reactions a rather more attractive prospect.

Every once in a while John glances at Sherlock. Sherlock always tenses, because he knows when it's going to happen, and it's an effort to force himself not to glance away. Sherlock always meets John's looks with a smile, until that becomes almost the natural response to having John look at him.

"You're very distracting," John says eventually. Sherlock has lost track of who all characters are supposed to be, if he ever knew them.

"I can't say the same for you," Sherlock says. "You're the intended primary focus of my attention."

John is blinking when Sherlock picks up his phone chirping from the bedroom. He would give rather a lot to know not only if the most recent text is a result of Mycroft's surveillance or if Sherlock's just that predictable, but also to know what the message says. Because Sherlock has no idea what to do next.

"It's not ever going to be important when it's a text," John says.

"You have no idea," Sherlock replies, as he suddenly realises he knows exactly what Mycroft just told him to do.

It's surprisingly difficult to bridge the gap between where his chair is and where John is sitting, but surprisingly easy after that to bring his lips to John's. After that it's a matter of practicality to drop into John's lap and make the chair support both their weight, so Sherlock can focus on the much more important matter of memorising John's moans as he swallows them.

"I think Mycroft's finally succeeded in creeping me out," John announces after coming back from the bathroom. Sherlock maintains that there are several perfectly satisfactory activities that can be done prior to brushing one's teeth in the morning, but John had insisted.

"Of course he has; he excels at that sort of thing."

"He sent me a text advising that we use protection."

Sherlock coughs awkwardly.

"He also said that if we hadn't needed it by now, I should know that apparently you have quite the thing for me and would happily, umm."


"Yield to any suggestions that I might have."

Sherlock lets the pause speak for rather a long time before saying anything. "Yes, creepy."

The thing in his voice that John picks up was meant to be picked up, but it still leaves Sherlock a little nervous. "Sherlock?"

"He's also right."